And the Walls Came Tumbling Down
by randomismyname
Summary: After weeks of silence on Aizen's part, and the appearence of a new, lethal species of Hollow, the Soul Society is forced into action. However, as two unrelated cultures collide, a young captain falls victim to a fickle game. The prize? His soul.
1. It Begins

A/N: I've always wanted to write a Bleach/Harry Potter Crossover, and now I have!!! I must say that I'm simply thrilled! Just so ya all know, this story will be centered mostly around Hitsugaya, so if you're not a fan, then sorry...but don't worry, there's lots of other characters floating around as well! Sometimes...

Please, please read all of this chapter, I know Hitsu's not in the first part, and believe me, I know how painful that is, but if you're gonna understand the storyline then it has to be done.

Good luck with reading my...interesting writing, but otherwise, enjoy!

Disclaimer: okay, I'm not gonna do this every week, so this counts as being UNIVERSAL, got it? I DO NOT OWN BLEACH, HARRY POTTER OR ANY OF THE CORRESPONDING CHARACTERS!!!!!

There, I reckon that got the message through...

And The Walls Came Tumbling Down

Chapter 1: It Begins 

They sat in neat formation; evenly spaced around their master as they waited in silence, their faces shadowed by the darkness that surrounded them. It was a spacious room; cavernous ceiling and grand interior only visible via the fragile flickering light that sputtered from the fire, hardly worth calling embers in its deprived state. This dim glow bounced sharply off the congregation's backs; straight and tight; allowing no movement to be made seen. With this near constant lack of activity, the only true sign of life within the space was the neon red spark of _his_ eyes, snapping over each member briefly as though searching for some sign of discontentment; something that would no doubt be crushed upon discovery.

Those eyes ran quickly over the faces a second time before shifting to the darkest side of the room, where the door; huge and solid, was located. They remained fixed on that spot for some time, never blinking and never losing focus as they waited, an ever-present keen glint in their flat scarlet depths. Moments later, the door creaked open and, footsteps echoing piercingly around the dark hall, a hooded man strode in towards them.

"Severus." The voice was unnaturally high; the harsh, unlevelled sound of it scraping against the man's ears. "What news of the others?"

The man bowed; movements loose yet respectful.

"My Lord, I believe that this is the best we can hope for tonight; the others send their apologies but find that they cannot be parted from their work. They will wait until they are able to understand fully what it is they are dealing with."

The two points of crimson stirred, as if following their master's head as he twitched in annoyance, a derisive snort sounding from the vague outline of his body. The hooded figure remained still; intensely aware of his Lord's volatile mood.

He was beyond relieved when the elevated voice spoke again.

"Very well. You may be seated, Severus."

He rose from his stance and, lowering his hood, took his place among the seated ranks, his black hair reflecting dully the light of the dying fire.

They fell back into silence, the only sound being that of the occupants' breathing; shallow and rushed. A few feet away from the crimson points, one man began to shift nervously, his cloak rustling against the floor and drawing the unwanted attention of those ever-glowing orbs.

"What troubles you, Nott?"

The man jumped when his name was spoken and bowed rapidly, a muscle in his face twitching as he too removed his hood; red-brown hair spilling over his shoulders.

"My Lord, nothing…troubles me, as such…" He hesitated as his pale eyes flinchingly met red, but strived to continue nonetheless. "I was merely curious about the purpose of this gathering…"

He stopped again as the eerie gaze continued to stare; unmoved. When the voice remained silent, he began to panic, and before he realized what he was doing, he sunk immediately into another hasty bow.

"Forgive me, my Lord! I should not have spoken out of turn."

A soft hiss cut through the air as the eyes laughed, shaking with twisted mirth at the man's distress. Nott, though still nervous, gave off an air of intense hope as he heard the sound, grey irises shining.

"Worry not. You have not intruded on any private matter and I assure you, the purpose of this meeting would have been revealed sooner or later without your input."

Letting loose a shaky breath, the man returned to his original posture, trying to re-gather his usual poised composure.

"My Lord."

The eyes, no longer interested in the man, moved on languidly, taking in the other faces again as they moved to speak.

"You are, I'm sure, aware of the situation concerning the former guards of Azkaban?"

A general murmured assent.

"You are also aware of the fact that I have chosen members of our ranks to investigate their behaviour and remedy it. We so far have had no idea as to what brought about this change in them, or what the cause of their sudden disappearances may be."

He paused a moment.

"But that is about to change. Last night, I received word from a civilisation entirely unheard of by us. The messenger stated that his master had taken a great interest in us and our movement, and in exchange for information, he would offer us assistance in our plight. Tonight, another representative is to come to us expressing the conditions of our alliance, and that, friends, is why I have called you here."

Another murmur ran through the group, but this time, the sound was uneasy; displeased.

"But, my Lord, surely there is no need to form an alliance. You are the most powerful being the world has ever seen! This presumptuous 'master' of whom you speak cannot have greater power than yourself."

The eyes fell upon a figure towards the end of the formation. They cringed.

"You speak an undeniable truth. However, it would be unwise to underestimate any unknown entity, and as we know nothing of the creatures that visit us tonight, we should focus on unearthing the truth about them and finding any weaknesses they may possess, rather than refusing their help or forcing them into…_early_ submissions."

"Yes, my Lord. I should've seen it as such from the start."

An uncomfortable silence fell again as they waited for the eyes to speak once more. Although enjoying their awkwardness, a glance at the shadowed clock above the fire told the eyes that they could not afford to keep quiet for as long as they may have wished.

"The representative shall arrive in exactly three minutes. I expect all of you to behave as I believe I have seen you at your best, and I shall be most disappointed if I find myself…corrected."

A shivering rush of 'my Lord' flew around the ranks at this, and with all the patience they could muster, they waited.

Mere moments had passed before the rumbling began.

The sound shook the floor beneath them and rattled furnishings, sending the people seated atop them leaping as they fought the urge to run from this unknown assailant. Over the top of the rumbling, a high, shrill keening could just be made out, and those with sharp enough hearing bent to the floor, their hands covering their heads as they shrieked in agony, calling for it to stop.

The glowing scarlet eyes of Voldemort did nothing. They watched. They waited. They ignored the pain of their underlings, and instead fixed a stare on the air above them as, most peculiarly, it seemed to split; tearing apart with a sound akin to ripping flesh. Through the ragged gap, only a black swirling mass of shapes could be seen, some sliding slickly out and into the room, writhing towards the prone humans as though they were prey; a simple meal to help quell a never-ending hunger.

There was a sudden flash of light and, shrinking back from the wailing bodies, the blackness receded; curling away into the emptiness from where it had come.

"My apologies. I'd forgotten they were there."

A low, steady voice washed calmly over the chaotic scene, and before any other could interrupt, a tall, slight figure had stepped casually onto the air before them, sinking slowly to the ground. His features were apathetic in the extreme; neatly arranged and entirely devoid of emotion. The only colour to be found on him was that of his irises; acid green and glowing to the point that they matched the red facing him, marks of the same hue running down his cheeks, making it appear as if he were weeping. Mid-length inky black hair brushed over his white skin and shoulders, and from the left-hand side of his head, a bone-like structure protruded; acting in a similar way to that of a helmet as it moved in the manner of plated amour around his neck.

Voldemort surveyed him steadily from his position at the end of the room, eyeing the long ornate sword that hung at the creature's waist with mild interest and, curious smile tweaking his lips, he spoke.

"The messenger, I presume?"

The creature inclined his head, his movements stiff; controlled; dangerous.

"My name is Ulquiorra Cifer. I am here as a representative of Aizen-sama and have come here to discuss the terms of our alliance in full."

Several of the cloaked shapes muttered angrily and shuffled further back, towards their master and well away from the newcomer.

"I see. What are his terms?"

"Aizen-sama wishes that all information regarding wizard potions, most specifically poisons, be relayed to him. He also wishes that the best you have in that field be presented to him in order to aid him in creating said poison. In return, Aizen-sama will offer you information regarding our common enemy and give back the control of the Dementors of Azkaban to you, ensuring their full cooperation. When the time comes for battle, he will provide you with soldiers from his own army to ensure your success. I will be among them."

More mutters followed this statement, and from somewhere to the left, a rough female voice called out: "_They_ were controlling the Dementors?! How?! How can we trust them?!"

Voldemort shot the perpetrator a look, but paused in consideration, his eyes narrowed.

"Are these the only conditions?"

"There is one other. Aizen-sama wishes it be known that once the alliance is forged, he will expect your unrelenting support. If he is not satisfied that you have given all you have to offer, then the agreement will be void, and you will be dealt with accordingly."

A screech sounded from the floor, and launching itself from the ground, one cloaked figure shot towards Ulquiorra, a hand diving into its pocket.

"You dare to threaten the Dark Lord?!"

Neither the messenger nor its master moved to stop it as the wand was raised; owner still howling.

"Crucio!"

The beam of red light that emanated from the wood hit the target squarely on the chest; producing sparks as it bounced off the now bared skin, a scorch mark the only remnant of the curse. Ulquiorra glanced down at his ruined uniform, then back at his attacker. Her hood had fallen away, revealing the tangled mass of black hair, hollow face and manic expression of Bellatrix Lestrange. She was crouching before him, her shoulders shaking and eyes wild as she raised her wand again, snarling.

"Hmph. Pathetic."

Ulquiorra's hand rose before him almost lazily as he watched the woman with utter disdain. From the tip of his hand, a bright, turquoise light began to form, swirling and flickering with compacted energy, and before she could even part her mouth, the light had been released. The blinding flash that followed was enough to send many of the cloaked watchers stumbling back, their hands not being enough to cover both their eyes and ears as the sound of the blast hit them. Once the light had extinguished, the room plunged sharply into blackness, smoke and dust having risen from the floor and engulfed them, entering their lungs and forcing gut-wrenching coughs from their fragile human frames.

Slowly, the dust began to dissipate, settling back to the surfaces it had coated before-hand, and revealing the haggard form of Bellatrix, bent on all fours; panting; blood dripping from her chin to the floor. She was shaking violently, weak whimpering sounds spilling from her bloodied lips as she fought to stay conscious.

None moved to help her.

"It would appear that you have misunderstood your position in all this." Ulquiorra's voice rang harsher in the open space than before, his acidic eyes focusing on none but Voldemort, who met the gaze head-on. "Aizen-sama is offering you things that go beyond your wildest imaginings; the very fact that he has chosen to speak with you in itself is a blessing that you can never hope to have repeated throughout the rest of your worthless lives."

Bellatrix's whines had begun to quieten, the sound barely more than a squeak before the crumpling of her body was heard; a dull thump resounding throughout the chamber. Many shivered.

"Truly despicable. I wonder why Aizen-sama thought it worth the trouble…"

He cocked his head to the side; a small display of curiosity that was reflected in the eyes of the man before him.

"But then, I understand perhaps a little better when I look at you."

Voldemort glanced fleetingly at the fallen figure of his most loyal follower, his expression calculating.

"What was that light you used just now?"

"At this time, it does not concern you."

A sly smile felt its way over his face.

"So those are the final conditions?"

"They are."

For the first time since the gathering had begun, Voldemort stood, his face no longer shadowed but fully visible; grey skin taught over a flat, snake-like skull, and eyes shining like torches in the firelight. Ulquiorra's expression remained impassive.

"Well then, how could I refuse?"

***

If looks could kill, there would be nothing left of Matsumoto Rangiku.

Not a blonde hair.

Not a scrap of manicured nail.

And certainly not a single chord of her over-used voice box.

"Taaaiiichoooouuuu!!!"

_**Crash!**_

"Woops! Forgot about the door…"

It was at times like these that he wished he'd been born with laser-eyes, maybe super-powered-fukutaichou-crushing strength, or at the very least, the authority to do whatever he pleased.

Why did murder have to be illegal…?

"Taichou! Hey, Taichou!"

Resisting the urge to bang his head against his desk, Hitsugaya let loose a long, calming breath and turned towards his now destroyed office door and a very excited, very _not_ apologetic-looking vice-captain.

"Before I ask why you're yelling at me, I should tell you that the money required to pay for a new door will be coming straight out of your wages."

Her pout only served to irritate him further.

"Taichou! How could you say such a thing?! So mean…" The pout slowly but surely transformed, lifting a dazzling smile onto her features as she raised a finger to her chin, evidently believing she'd figured something out. "I know; you're feeling all grumpy 'cause you haven't had your walk yet! Am I right?!"

Twitch.

"Matsumoto! I'm 'grumpy' because you broke down my door, burst my eardrums and haven't finished your paperwork! And you still haven't told me _why_ you were shouting in the first place!"

She looked mildly surprised, her mouth forming a perfect 'o' shape as she considered this new idea.

"Yeah, that makes sense…"

"Matsumoto…"

She flapped her hands in a dismissive manner; completely ignoring the dangerous drop in temperature.

"Yeah, yeah, I was getting to that…um…"

She stopped again, turning away from him and proceeding to stalk purposefully about the room, stepping over the ruins of the door with the finger having returned to tap at her chin in mock thought. Hitsugaya watched her progress with teeth clenched and eyebrows convulsing, his arms folded tightly over his chest in the way he always did whenever feeling particularly strong homicidal urges.

Quite suddenly, Matsumoto came to a halt, her brow furrowed and contemplative gaze landing solidly on her captain. She appeared deadly serious. Hitsugaya sobered immediately, his hands falling to his sides and expression dark, anticipating the worst.

"Taichou…"

A sharp intake of breath.

"…I don't remember."

He practically wilted.

"…What's that supposed to mean?"

She shook her head, strawberry blonde waves bobbing up and down around her face as she smiled again, the previous brightness returning.

"It means I don't remember, Taichou! Why, what else would it mean? Honestly, I thought you were meant to be smart!"

A throbbing started up behind his eyes and he pressed a hand to his forehead, squeezing the bridge of his nose in a mixture of annoyance and utter exasperation. He wondered briefly how many jars of sake she'd managed to down in the last hour, but decided it didn't matter; he really was too used to this to care.

"Are you trying to tell me, Matsumoto, that you ran in here, destroyed my office and yelled at me, yet you have no idea why?"

"Yup, that sounds about right."

He sighed.

"Have I ever told you how good your head would look on a pike?"

She frowned, trying to remember.

"Um…no. You did mention mounting my stuffed head on the office wall, though. I was very flattered…"

"Well, now that I have, it won't come as a surprise to you when I say that I've already made arrangements."

The answering smile she gave him could never have meant anything good, but thankfully, she didn't get the chance to verbalise whatever inane thought had just surfaced in her ever-groggy brain, because at that moment, another figure came smashing into the office, this time, Hitsugaya was comforted to note, without damaging anything.

Flaming red hair as defiant as ever and tattoos blazing, Abarai Renji made his first and most unexpected appearance in the Tenth Division's main office, his hand resting on the door frame for support and his breath coming in short pants. He cast a confused glance at the debris at his feet before seeking the captain's eyes, clearly anxious.

"Hitsugaya-taichou, the Soutaichou's getting impatient; I wouldn't keep him waiting much longer."

The shock of seeing Abarai non-withstanding, he was having trouble with the idea that he could have forgotten something. The Soutaichou…? Hitsugaya's frown deepened; utterly nonplussed, trying to recall just when he'd received any form of summons from the man and coming up blank.

"What on earth are you talking about, Abarai? The Soutaichou didn't mention anything to me about—"

"But he sent me here specifically to call you in. He said that he sent word ahead to you but you never arrived. He's been waiting for half an hour."

"Sent word ahead…"

Ever quick-witted, Hitsugaya sent an accusatory glare in Matsumoto's direction, feeling particularly satisfied when she cringed; features twisted in a sheepish grin.

"Know something about this?"

She giggled nervously.

"Well, there is a possibility that I do…but really, Taichou, it's hardly my fault! I mean, if you distract me too early on, then I'll never remember what messages I was meant to give you! Or files! Or…invoices…heh…"

Trying his hardest not to think too carefully about what those words could have meant, he turned stiffly back to Abarai, who was shifting uncertainly in the doorway, clearly reluctant to linger.

"Abarai-fukutaichou, putting aside Matsumoto's idiocies, would you care to explain just what the Soutaichou wants me to do?"

The taller man nodded quickly, his hair swaying slightly with the movement.

"The Soutaichou wishes for you to come and receive your new orders from him in person immediately. He will be waiting for you in the main chamber at the First Division's barracks."

Hitsugaya's eyes narrowed slightly. That didn't make sense…

"Why could none of this have been relayed through the Hell Butterflies?"

Abarai frowned, the previous anxiety having been replaced by a calm, stern demeanour, well-honed from much practice in giving and receiving information.

"We don't know why, but for some reason, the Hell Butterflies are dying. This morning, well over a hundred were found dead in the 6th Division cages alone. 12th is running tests on them now, but for the moment, none are in operation and Soul Society is having to revert back to the traditional methods of passing messages by word of mouth rather than technology."

"I see…"

Turning away from Abarai, Hitsugaya strode quietly to the other side of the room were his sword rested on a stand beside his bookcase. He lifted it carefully, swinging it over and around his shoulders in a manner that spoke more of habit than conscious action, and, still adjusting the sash that held it tightly to his back, he addressed the other occupants.

"Since I can no longer keep the Soutaichou waiting, I'll head over there now. Matsumoto," Hitsugaya glanced at her from over his shoulder. "That pile of papers has been rotting away on your desk for the last week and still shows no signs of nearing completion. That's why, when I return, I expect to see your desk _empty_, and by that I mean that the work has been finished, rather than just removed and, knowing you, disposed of."

Matsumoto, who had up until that moment remained silent, let loose a long, overly dramatic sigh and slouched over to her desk; head sagging and shoulders drooping forward.

"As you wish, Taichou. I shall once again waste many hours of my already spent life slaving away at this table…for you…"

Completely untouched by this sentiment, Hitsugaya looked back at Abarai, only to find the man's eyebrows raised and jaw clenched painfully, clearly trying his hardest not to laugh.

Feeling, perhaps, a little more haggard than usual, the Soul Society's youngest captain made for the door, pausing over the mess of wood, paper and plaster with something akin to muted despair and muttered:

"Welcome to 10th Division."

Renji caught the humour in this statement, and found a grin crawling slowly up his features in recognition. He had rarely heard the boy make any form of joke, but since his time with Hitsugaya in the world of the living, he had come to understand the sharp, dry flares of wit that he was prone to, at least when surrounded by those trustworthy enough to be shown it.

He was about to respond when Hitsugaya spoke first, his back straightening and head cocked slightly in thought.

"Abarai-fukutaichou, do you have any other immediate duties to tend to?"

The frown appeared again on Renji's face again as he considered.

"I don't think so, Hitsugaya-taichou. That was the main reason I was asked to come and find you, although," and here, he straightened up a little, his tone taking on an edge of pride. "I expect my skill in shunpo was also recognised as an excellent asset in this, and that must have made a contribution to the decision."

Hitsugaya chose to completely ignore the last half of his monologue, and instead nodded slightly, more to himself than to anyone else.

"Well then, since I don't trust Matsumoto to finish her work by the end of this century, let alone by the time I get back, and since you have no urgent business to attend to, I'd like you to watch her."

Renji looked confused and Hitsugaya hastened to explain.

"When I say 'watch', what I really mean is that you'll need stand over her and poke her every now and then (she falls asleep a lot), and that you'll need to make sure that the window is shut and all other exits secured in case she tries to brake out."

"Y-yes, Hitsugaya-taichou."

"And, Abarai,"

A wry smirk twitched at his lips.

"Good luck."

There was a flash as his image disappeared from sight and, blinking, Renji turned away from the now empty door frame and back to his ward, who was, he was not surprised to see, face down on the top-most sheet of paper, a slim trail of drool running down her chin and smudging the ink.

He picked up the nearest thing he could find (a calligraphy brush) and proceeded, as advised, to jab Matsumoto in the side.

She jerked slightly, but otherwise made no move to wake.

Rolling his eyes to the ceiling and scratching the back of his head in frustration, Renji prepared again to force her out of her slumber, wondering briefly what would happen if he yelled in her ear. No - he winced slightly at the image - the consequences would be far too painful.

It was going to be a long day.

***

A/N: I don't know how good ths was, so reviews would be ENORMOUSLY appreciated...please...otherwise I'll feel unloved...and then I will be sad...


	2. Unexpected

A/N: Thank you everyone for the reviews last time! Eight! I couldn't believe it! There was much in the way of joyful dancing afterwards....

Also, I'm sorry I didn't answer everyone's reviews last time, but I did read them! It's just that I have mucho mucho work at the moment...dratted 6th form...

I apologise in advance to those who read this, because this is officially the LONGEST chapter that I have ever written, and possibly, that you have ever read. I'm talking 42 pages here. 42. I spent a week writing it...oh, the agony...

But please, try, if you can, to read all of it, and reviews would be enormously appreciated.

Enjoyses.

Chapter 2: Unexpected

It hadn't been a particularly tiring trip, but then, for someone of his standing, it would have been somewhat concerning if it had.

Now, the First Division barracks rose before him, grand and intimidating. Yet this alarming image made no impression on him whatsoever; he'd been here only a week before and had been coming since he was first appointed the role of captain. As per usual, he strode up to the main entrance; far larger than was really necessary, and announced himself, knowing that despite the lack of conscious entities on the outside of the building, he would be heard and allowed in.

As expected, moments later the doors creaked open, permitting just enough space between them for him to move through without being crushed.

The corridor was brightly lit and open, the walls decorated only with wide windows that stretched from high ceiling to floor, the lower levels of Seireitei visible quite clearly through them. Normally, on a day as fine as this, Hitsugaya would have paused to admire the view; the sun glinting off white tiles and winding streets, reflecting the untainted blue of the sky in their mirror-like planes. But today, he would have to pass up on that simple pleasure.

After all, old men did not like to be kept waiting.

Quickening his pace just a little, he strode through the narrow doorway at the end of the passage and into the, surprisingly, modest courtyard. It was of simple design; pebble and flagstone surrounded by a mixture of silver birch and cherry blossom trees, each with a bench placed underneath and a small rockery at the centre, complete with waterfall and Koi pond. It was a scene meant to relax the viewer in their last few moments of peace before entering the meeting hall, an opportunity that was not taken for granted; as Hitsugaya knew well, good news was not often a thing received within the confines of that room, and truthfully, he wished that he could spend a moment longer in this gentle, green place, untouched by the knowledge of whatever tiresome and no doubt dangerous duty he was about to discover.

The door to the meeting hall already lay open, a reminder of his lateness, and as he strode in, the two guards that stood to either side of the entrance shot him haughty glares, probably considering his tardy arrival to be of his own doing and therefore a display of immaturity that reflected his age. Had it been one of the other captains, Hitsugaya was sure that the reaction would have been quite different, but then, he had always known what to expect; simple-minded people had simple-minded views, and if they didn't have enough sense to realise that appearances weren't everything, then he didn't have the time or the patience to acknowledge them.

It was darker here, possibly the darkest part of the whole building and, typically, the part that was also most often used.

Towards the end of the room rose a high, grand seat, lit up on all sides by ornate lanterns and revealing the tall, daunting figure of the Captain Commander, hunched over his staff and surveying Hitsugaya through hooded lids and thick, wiry eyebrows.

Hitsugaya bowed carefully, verbalising his apologies for arriving so late and explaining, briefly, the circumstances that had caused it, all the while watching the elderly figure before him from under his lashes, searching for any sign of deep displeasure; gnarled hands clamping together or perhaps the long, cord-bound beard shuddering slightly as the jaw tightened.

After a moment of silence, the wrinkled, hairless head dipped in understanding and, viewing this as a form of forgiveness, Hitsugaya straightened, looking the man directly in the eye.

The old man spoke.

"Hitsugaya-taichou. I have called you here to discuss your next assignment."

He paused, frowning a little.

"Be prepared to leave immediately after this meeting."

***

"And you are certain? It _is_ finished?"

The other man's lips twisted into a knowing grin, his head tipping to the side casually and shoulder length pink hair following with an elegant sweep about his neck.

"Oh yes, quite certain. We shall be testing it today, just to make sure, but even without seeing the results, we are both fairly confident of the outcome."

Above the one that had spoken and his silent companion, a pale, plain seat held captive the tall, attractive figure that lounged there, arm slung carelessly over the edge and his chin resting in his palm, brown eyes observing his servants with interest.

"So everything is prepared then?"

His voice was low and rich- silky, even.

"Yes. We will take one syringe with us, which I shall administer, while Ulquiorra watches for trouble, just in case things get nasty. If all goes as planned, though, which I'm sure it will, then he shouldn't be necessary."

Amber eyes hidden behind flashy glasses glanced over to the other side of the room as they said this; smirk growing. Ulquiorra, who had been standing in the shadows 'till then, made no move to acknowledge the remark but instead continued to stare blankly at the speaker, his glowing green orbs shining in the darkness.

All eyes returned to the front, though, when Aizen spoke again.

"You did not mention our inventive friend here. Is he not going?"

The previously silent one stiffened, unsure of how to answer. Before he could make himself heard, however, the amber-eyed man spoke first, his tone dull, clearly bored by having to give the information.

"He can't come. Says his master has business for him. Besides," Here he shifted his weight onto his left side, away from the other man, an eyebrow lifting high. "He wouldn't be much use. It's not as if he has any experience in these matters."

Aizen smirked as he watched the quiet, dark-haired man twitch in annoyance, a hand jerking towards his pocket before managing to stop it halfway.

"Now, now, Szayel, remember your manners. Severus is a guest here, and has been very helpful to us, as you well know."

Szayel made a humming noise at the back of his throat, a mixture of affirmative and scepticism.

There was a moment of silence in which Aizen glanced between those present with amusement, enjoying the tension of the human as he fought for control in this chamber full of monsters.

"Well then, I am delighted to hear of this progress and shall await the results eagerly. I take it you will need some more time for preparation?"

Szayel nodded.

"Then you may take your leave."

All three bowed, their hair flopping forwards with the movement, and muttered the name of their lord as one before turning, not a moment too soon, and striding swiftly to the doors.

"Oh, and Severus?"

Snape stopped, his hands clenching, and spun around, glaring at Aizen with undisguised hatred, his black hair hanging in strands across his bitter expression.

Aizen raised his chin from his hand.

"Be sure to send my regards to your master."

***

Honestly, he was surprised that it had been allowed to progress so far.

Hollows were not a captain's job; captains were responsible for the well-fare, organisation and overall training of their ranks, even if nine times out of ten these jobs were handed to lower seats. In battle, a captain was to fight those that posed the greatest threats; those that the rest of their squad would not be able to handle, and in times of great stress, the division heads were kept back solely for that purpose. This meant that even if the rest of the squad were killed or badly injured while fighting the general masses, the high-ranking officers would still be capable of destroying the enemy's most powerful soldiers without the burden of prior injury.

So why had this been left for so long?

They had lost 36 men and one officer, a 5th seat from 3rd Division, all of them to an unknown, and previously unrecorded species of hollow. Surely they should have realised after the first five failed that this was no standard operation; surely they should have sent vice-captains in immediately…

But no. They hadn't. And now they were attempting to rectify their mistake by sending a captain. A _captain_, for heaven's sake.

So much for times of stress.

But then again, who was to say that a captain would be able to defeat it? If an entirely undocumented species of being suddenly appeared and attacked, who was to know what its limitations were?

If it even had any…

Hitsugaya growled quietly and sped up, pushing his legs faster as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop, heading for the group of buildings ahead of him that he recognised his division's barracks.

The Soutaichou had been quite specific about what he wanted, not that such an order would have needed much explaining; he was to seek out the hollows and annihilate them. End of.

But there was something off about this; uncomfortable, and he had a nasty feeling that he would be finding that out soon enough.

Clearing the last of the roofs, Hitsugaya dropped to the ground, allowing the hem of his haori to fall back into place before darting across the training grounds and through his office door, the latter of which's debris had, phenomenally, been tidied away, a few scattered splinters of wood being the only remnants of the earlier disaster. That, and the lack of a door.

Breathing perhaps a little more heavily than usual from his vigorous morning exercise, (he had just shunpoed about the equivalent of a two mile walk) he strode purposefully over to his fukutaichou's desk, pleased and a little amused to find her hunched over it and, unusually, half conscious. This miracle, he knew, could only have been attributed to the work of a very tired, very bored-looking Abarai, who stood beside her, leaning against her chair and holding his arm out, poking her every time she blinked with a calligraphy brush.

Hitsugaya was impressed: one session and Abarai was already nearing his standards in 'Matsumoto Training'. Perhaps he could use Abarai's talent more often…

"Abarai, Matsumoto."

The two of them jumped at the sound of his voice, clearly having not heard or felt his entrance.

"H-Hitsugaya-taichou!"

"Mou, Taichou! Don't do that! You scared me!"

Hitsugaya ignored them and went to his desk, meaning to inspect the latest entries before he left for the world of the living, skimming over the titles of each sheet his eyes met. It was towards the end of this inspection that one in particular caught his attention:

'_Hell Butterfly Statistics in Accordance With New Lethal Virus: 10__th__ Division'_

Frowning, he reached for it, his long boned hands lifting it by the lower corners of the page, missing the questioning glances received by his two subordinates as he did so.

'_Out of 503 insects, 389 were found dead this morning at 6:28 am. By 9:34 am today, another 67 were added to this, making the overall reported loss 456.'_

He gaze fell to the final line, and he felt his stomach drop.

'_It is estimated that by the end of this day, August 30__th__, the entire population of Hell Butterflies will have been eliminated.'_

Very bad news.

The Hell Butterflies were the only means of communication between Seireitei and the world of the living while on missions, and without them, especially at a time when no new technology could possibly be created, there was no way of leaving or entering the Soul Society without doing so illegally, and, consequently, dangerously.

It meant that there was no escape from a dire situation and no means of contact to request back-up when needed. In short, it left them vulnerable. Very vulnerable.

And Hitsugaya's assignment was effective immediately.

"Matsumoto,"

Her eyes were serious as she watched him replace the sheet on the table's surface, her movements attentive.

"Put your pen down. I want you to find Kori, Imahori, Hosokawa and four other men. I don't care if they're seated or not, just make sure that you and those people are at the main Senkaimon in 20 minutes. I'll explain there."

"Yes, Taichou."

She was gone in a flash, her bright hair whipping out behind her as she vanished through the doorway, leaving Hitsugaya and Renji alone. The taller man looked somewhat awkward again, his gaze roaming the room but never once landing on Hitsugaya, as though afraid that even allowing his eyes to rest on the young captain would cause him to spontaneously combust. It looked odd; Abarai didn't suit nervousness.

Hitsugaya watched; slightly entertained by the man's efforts, before finally growing tired of it and sighing loudly, forcing Abarai's attention back onto him.

"Thank you, Abarai. Your help was very much appreciated and I'd quite like to make use of it again, if you ever have the time. But, for now, my lot will be busy, so you're free to go."

He blinked rapidly, seemingly finding it difficult to comprehend the younger one's words before finally nodding and bowing jerkily, his red hair glistening in the morning light that entered through the window.

"Abarai."

Red irises glanced up at the boy from their lowered position.

"Calm down."

"S-sorry, Hitsugaya-taichou."

He shook his head wearily, turning his back on the man and picking up the report he had read earlier, concerned. Total losses at 9:34 were 456…

It was 10:47 now.

They would have to move quickly.

Dropping it back on the desk, he turned, nodded once to Abarai, who, albeit confusedly, did the same, and walked briskly to the door, pushing himself into shunpo seconds before his foot touched the rough earth of the training ground and launching himself into the air.

Even at the speeds he was travelling, he could clearly make out every dust-covered stone and scurrying insect that crossed his path and was careful to avoid the odd shinigami that hadn't yet realised his presence, too wrapped up in their own business to notice the oncoming danger presented by a speeding captain.

Roughly seven seconds later, he arrived at the Senkaimon, glad to find half of the team already assembled. The area itself was nothing more than a wide clearing; the grass long and pale, high enough that it reached to Hitsugaya's waist (though only to the knees of the others) and in the centre, a plain, oval door stood upright, held by nothing physical that the eye could see. The trees that enclosed it were tall, their leaves bright, and despite the fact that they blocked out the sun; deliberately; so as to keep them from prying eyes, the golden light shone clearly through the translucent membrane, casting a fresh, warm glow about the place.

In June, the clearing was usually filled with wild flowers; the puffy, white sort that fell to pieces the moment they were touched, scattering the blossoms through the wind-blown grasses. Now, though, the grass was littered with yellow fruits dropped from the trees, their mottled, rounded surfaces dappled by the sunlight. Hitsugaya had to admit that the place was beautiful.

Not that he'd be expressing those particular views any time soon.

His men stood waiting for him, grouped around the gate and chatting animatedly. One of them, not someone Hitsugaya recognised, let out a burst of laughter before it was cut short, one of his companions having elbowed him in the ribs, nodding towards the area where Hitsugaya stood. Hastily, the two of them sunk into a bow. The other, who's face he couldn't quite make out, did so more sedately. He decided that it must be one of his officers; those who knew him tended not to be so nervous in his presence, aware that he was a lot more tolerant than his initial glower and snappish temperament would suggest.

A little further off from the others, and clearly thinking hard, Kori Akiro, the eldest present and Hitsugaya's 3rd seat, leant against a nearby Ash tree, his posture hunched and expression troubled.

He glanced up when he heard his captain approaching and his face slipped into an easy smile, bowing in recognition. Hitsugaya acknowledged it calmly enough, but felt concern nipping at the back of his mind as he noticed the man's deepened shadows under his eyes, the harsher lines adorning his forehead and added grey hairs that grew peppered amongst the black.

He knew things had been difficult for Kori in this last year; the previous 3rd seat had been killed a few months prior by an arrancar, and the two of them had been good friends at the time, having known each other from the moment they had joined the 10th division together 80 years earlier. The death had understandably hit him hard.

The loss hadn't seemed to have shaken his determination on the battlefield, however, as what would have been expected had a lesser man been faced with such trials. He was still loyal; fiercely so, and Hitsugaya respected him immensely for it.

He was about to close the gap between them and express some of his concerns, but sadly, things did not go as planned. There was a shrill squeal from somewhere to his left, and without even having the chance to turn, he was accosted by something hard, bony and loud.

"Taaaiiiichou!"

From his newest position; the ground, (he wasn't quite sure how he had managed to get there in the first place) all he could see was a set of bright, slightly pointed teeth, bared in a wide grin.

"I haven't seen you in ages! You've been avoiding me, haven't you?! You didn't even _look_ at me just now! Oh, I feel so unloved!"

The smile morphed into a look of mock hurt and, wincing slightly as he realised he'd landed on something sharp (the said object was burrowing a hole in his back) he shoved his assailant off him and pushed himself to his feet, muttering angrily as he did so.

Irrepressible, as always, his previously unnoticed 4th seat bounced up before him, her grin having returned to beam at his scowl as he attempted to brush patches of mud from his haori, not amused in the slightest.

Off to the right, he caught Kori trying, and failing, to hold in a smirk, and all former feelings of worry or sympathy dissipated instantly, a poisonous glare being sent in the man's direction.

"Oh, come on, Taichou, there's no need to look like that! I was just being friendly!"

"Imahori, _friendliness_, surprisingly enough, is meant for _friends. Respect _is meant for your superiors. Please try to follow those guidelines more closely."

Imahori Taka huffed loudly, but didn't go any further, sensing his fraying patience. A calculating look replaced the grin as her bright blue eyes narrowed; her head lowering until she was looking at him from under her short, dark hair.

"So, what exactly is going on? It isn't often I get to go on a mission with my Taichou."

Folding his arms over his chest, and turning slightly away, he answered, looking over the rest of the arrivals.

"I'll explain it when the others get here. How long has it been since Matsumoto sent you?"

"She found me and those guys-," She gestured over her shoulder to the waiting men, both of whom were now sending their captain furtive glances. "-about ten minutes ago, and said something garbled about hunting down a couple of others and…The Idiot."

Her voice dropped as she spoke the last two words, sounding almost deadpan; quite the opposite to her usual vitality.

"Hmm."

'The Idiot', he was pretty certain, was referring to one Hosokawa Yasu, a newly appointed 6th seat fresh out of the academy. He was arrogant, loud, brash, rash, self-satisfied and self-serving, and for some reason had taken it upon himself to flirt with every ranking female officer in 10th, and thus, was not very popular with either gender. In particular, he seemed to have taken a liking to Matsumoto and Imahori, who, despite their overzealous, playful natures, were both alarmingly sensible when it came to encounters with men.

Understandably, the two women got along well.

Normally, he wouldn't come within shouting distance of Hosokawa, finding the man's demeanour to be enormously irritating. He had never been able to grasp the fact that Hitsugaya was captain and he wasn't, and always made this opinion quite clear, even through such simple things as the manner in which he would obey an order, and in some cases, the way in which he did not.

Unfortunately for all of them, though, the 5th and 7th seats were busy in Rukongai, and Hitsugaya could not afford to take with him anyone lower than 7th if they were expected to do anything more than be lookouts.

And that left Hosokawa.

"Oi, Hitsugaya-Taichou."

Hitsugaya turned.

'_Speak of the Devil'._

Swaggering out of a somewhat sloppy shunpo, Hosokawa sloped forwards, an irate Matsumoto trailing behind him, dragging along the other two shinigami in her wake.

"What have I told you about _waiting for orders _before you zoom off into the sunset, hmm?!"

Her voice started as a harsh hiss, growing louder as the sentence came to a close.

"I hadn't even told you _where_ you were meant to be going! What are you; telepathic, or something?! Are you even listening?!"

"Relax, Ran-chan," (She hissed again) "I got here, didn't I? It's not like we're late or anything."

Cocky smirk very much in place, he ran a hand languidly through his shoulder length red-brown hair, his slanting, grey eyes following closely the movements of the raging fukutaichou as she stomped towards Hitsugaya, pulling the two others by the sleeves and appearing absolutely murderous.

"Hitsugaya-taichou, this is Kimura Zenko and Santo Fumimasa. Neither of them are seated, but both were available at the time. The others are Sugita Yuko and…"

She paused for a moment; frustrated.

"And…uh…I-Ima…"

Another pause; this time accompanied by an angry gnawing of her bottom lip.

"Ah..I-Imai Taku."

Raising an eyebrow and smirking slightly, Hitsugaya craned to look past her shoulder, trying to fit the names to the faces.

"Got there eventually, I see."

Her mouth opened, clearly in preparation for a monstrous verbal tirade, before he stopped her, holding up a hand and shaking his head.

"Don't bother. I know."

Jaw snapping shut, she closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, allowing a gust of wind to lift her hair as she calmed herself.

"Taichou, I went to the Hell Butterfly enclosures to take some for this mission, but there weren't many left. I managed to find to the right number for today, but…"

Hitsugaya nodded, a hand reaching behind his neck to rub there as he thought.

It was coming up to 11:00 am now, and already most of the Hell Butterflies were down. He could only hope that the remaining butterflies wouldn't be affected over the duration of their mission; otherwise, there'd be no getting back…

"Come on, Matsumoto; I need to explain everything."

The two of them rejoined the rest of the group, Hitsugaya moving to stand apart from them and in front of the Senkaimon, hoping that this would be enough to gain their notice. Thankfully, it was, and with eight pairs of eyes and ears now fully attentive, he began his explanation.

"Roughly three weeks ago, a group of five Shinigami out on patrol in London came across a type of Hollow that they had never seen before. They attempted to destroy it, but were unsuccessful, and in the end, all of them were killed. When none returned, Seireitei sent a larger number; 10, this time, in the hope that a greater force would overwhelm it. However, despite this, again, all of them were killed."

Hitsugaya stopped briefly, frowning as he attempted to gather his thoughts.

"It wasn't until the third squad was sent out and slaughtered that it was realised that there was more than one Hollow, and, from what 12th had been able to gauge from their observations, that their genetic makeup is entirely different from what we are used to, and yet unmistakably that of a Hollow."

It was silent again for a moment, the only sound being that of the wind as it caught their robes and hair, raising the coloured strands forwards to play about their faces while pulling it back from Hitsugaya's, his pale skin appearing even whiter as the light turned dim, the initial glow of the sun having faded; a cloud passing over it.

"In all, 37 men were lost, one of which was 3rd's 5th seat; some of you may have heard."

Imahori and two of the others nodded glumly, one in particular, a tall, brown haired man, kept his eyes downcast as this was mentioned. Hitsugaya wondered whether he had known the victim personally.

"According to what we know about these creatures, they are similar in appearance to Menos, except that they are smaller, and appear to be of greater intelligence and power. Beyond this nothing else is known, and 12th is still working on the findings taken from the latest attack.

"Our job, if you haven't guessed it already, is to find and destroy the Hollows as quickly as possible, and to do that, I need everyone's _full_ cooperation."

He sent a pointed glare in the direction of Hosokawa, who smirked faintly, meeting his captain's gaze full-on.

"Imai, Sugita, Kimura and Santo: you four will be lookouts, the idea being that we should be able to find them more easily if you do so, while Matsumoto, myself and the others prepare to fight them at any given moment. Is this understood?"

The answering 'Yes Taichou' was unanimous.

"Good. Let's go, then."

***

"We're not running behind schedule; in fact, we don't even need to leave for another hour, so stop your whining."

Green eyes flashed dangerously from the open doorway as Szayel continued to clatter about in his lab, inserting a small, jagged key into the lock of a metal cabinet and turning it sharply.

"And even so," the cabinet door was opened. "It will take them a while to so much as _find_ the creatures, let alone be sedate enough for this to work."

"Should we not be there anyway, just to make certain that nothing goes wrong?"

Szayel's movements stopped for a moment, his hand paused in the action of reaching for a soft, pouch-like container and his brightly coloured head bowed. Then, quite suddenly, he turned, an expression of cunning confidence seated atop his features as he allowed amber orbs to drill into the flat green of Ulquiorra's, his teeth bared in a crooked smile.

"Ah, but surely you're forgetting; this is _my_ plan, and _my_ plans do not go wrong."

Ulquiorra remained unmoved.

Reverting his attention back to his previous business, Szayel carefully lifted the pouch into his palm, stroking the side of it gently as he did so. The flexible, rubbery material began to move, rippling and twisting around whatever lay inside, until, finally, something white and smooth managed to push its way out, revealing the long, tubular form of a syringe. Checking that the needle was still covered, he placed it into a tight, plastic box before dropping it into his pocket and removing his latex gloves, only to replace them with his usual white ones.

Locking the cabinet briskly and placing the keys into the opposite pocket, he faced Ulquiorra once more, both of his eyebrows raised in question.

"Well, since you're so impatient, shall we?"

***

The streets of London were dark and narrow; the pavements wet from earlier showers and the air cloying yet cold, clearly ignoring the proposed warmth of the season. There was no one around; it was late here; the time difference meaning that they had arrived in the early hours of the morning instead of almost noon, and all that could be heard over the distant rumble of traffic was the sound of a dog barking, that single, empty noise giving the area an intense feeling of loneliness.

Hitsugaya now stood alone in this dank place; watching, his bright teal eyes sweeping the scene with a look of intense focus and his knees slightly bent as though ready to spring should the moment call for it.

And he was sure that it would.

Since the moment they had arrived, they had been surrounded by a thick, uncomfortable fog, making the already heavy atmosphere seem suffocating. He didn't like that fog. It was unnatural; warped, and when he stood in those mist ridden roads, he found himself drifting back in time to older, more unpleasant memories and dwelling on them a little longer than was healthy.

The others had had similar experiences; all of them had seemed to express some form of displeasure upon entering the city and all of them had been oddly despondent since.

The four unseated shinigami had been dispatched immediately to their designated posts; while the seats were to follow close by, ready engage the Hollows should their lookout be confronted. Hitsugaya went on his own, waiting for news and watching for any signs of supernatural movement amongst the mist.

Halting for a moment in his steady strides, Hitsugaya glanced towards the elegant form of the black butterfly that hovered beside him, taking note of the droop in its wings and the slow pace of its beats. He had hoped that the virus wouldn't take effect so quickly, but nonetheless, after only an hour, the creature was beginning to fade.

Frown deepening, he raised his hand towards it, holding it in such a way that the butterfly would understand. The second he felt the delicate tickle that indicated its landing, he brought it closer to his face; studying it.

The black, velvety colour of its body contrasted starkly with the white of his skin, making it seem almost unnatural, and through the slightly transparent wings, Hitsugaya could make out veins of a bright, reddish tone, the unpleasant hue seeming to pulsate with each of the insect's movements. Upon closer inspection, he found that the abdomen was also covered by a thick, mould-like texture, rusty in colour and seemingly feeding the throbbing cords that wrapped around its body, draining it of life.

He decided there wouldn't be another chance to ask.

"Matsumoto, how are things where you are?"

There was a moment in which nothing but static could be heard as a response, but, sure enough, his fukutaichou's voice soon rang through the air, her words not entirely clear and somewhat garbled in places: the connection was weak.

"_Hitsugaya-taichou…far, there's been no sign of the hollows…don't think…other's…either…"_

Although not complete, the overall gist was obvious enough. But Hitsugaya did not like the way their situation was going; aside from being trapped until the Soul Society worked things out, the moment they lost the Hell Butterflies, they lost contact with each other, and he knew from experience that some of the present members had no control over their reiatsu…

"Matsumoto, send a message to the others to meet up at the bridge we saw when we arrived. I'll be there waiting."

The butterfly on his hand stumbled a little, its tiny legs collapsing under the growing weight of its wings. He could just make out the affirmative from Matsumoto before the line went dead, the black creature curling in on itself and ceasing all movement. As he watched, the rust coloured covering began to slowly melt into non-existence, the veins sinking back into its smooth body. Cursing softly under his breath, he laid the butterfly on the pavement at his feet and left, his figure vanishing completely as he took off into shunpo.

The bridge he had named was a fairly nondescript looking thing; just concrete and steel built haphazardly over a section of the Thames that had broken off from the main river, meandering through the less wholesome parts of town. He had chosen it simply for its closeness, if nothing else, but was also pleased with its open spacing and wide design; allowing plenty of room should the need for it arise.

He was, naturally, the first to arrive and, still cautious, he strode towards the shadows that formed underneath the concrete arches, being careful not to leave footprints, disturb the weeds that grew on the bank or the empty plastic bags and cans that littered the area. He felt more secure there, in the darkness; less exposed, and he knew well that it was better to wait in unfriendly shadows and spy your enemy on the hunt, than it was to stand uncovered in the light and allow your enemy to spy you.

He stood silently, smothering his reiatsu to the point that he almost didn't exist; the amount he exuded being equal to that of a small rodent, scuttling about in gutters late at night.

He watched.

He listened.

He felt.

He waited.

Gradually, as though from a great distance, he sensed the arrival of one of the men; Sugita Yuko, he decided; if he had interpreted the projected aura correctly. As the man approached, Hitsugaya allowed himself to let loose a small flare of his own reiatsu, just enough to alert the other to his whereabouts, instead of leaving him confused and wandering the streets of London in search of his captain.

As he had suspected, Sugita appeared by his side a moment later, looking apprehensive at best, the shadows having clearly added to his nervous state. Sensing that it would be the wrong moment to do so, the man didn't speak, mimicking the boy's actions next to him as best he could, but failing to control his shuddering breath and shaking limbs; his body getting away from him.

The fog was growing thicker.

Hitsugaya only noticed this because he could no longer make out the nearest street lamp with the same clarity that he had before, the only visible part of it being the dim light meant to illuminate the street that was now failing miserably.

And then there were the memories.

'_Blood…so much blood…'_

He shook his head, clearing the unwanted images from his mind as best he could. He needed to concentrate; there were lives at risk.

Sugita shivered violently.

It was then that Hitsugaya realised something very, very important; something that he certainly should have noticed before now.

Each lookout was meant to be accompanied by a seated officer, that officer shadowing the steps of the other, making sure that the less powerful one came to no harm.

Sugita was alone.

Turning sharply, Hitsugaya caught the man by surprise, making him jump as the captain moved closer, his expression deadly.

"Sugita," His voice was low and dangerous. "Which officer was assigned to escort you?"

The man looked confused at this, unsure of how to answer.

"6th seat Hosokawa-san. Why?"

Hitsugaya felt his jaw clench. Somehow, he was not surprised.

"Where is he now?"

"I-I don't know. He said he'd meet me later and that he had something more important to do. He didn't say what, though; just said that I'd be able to look after myself for a few minutes…"

"…I see."

Evidently, Hosokawa had seen this mission as an ideal opportunity to explore the human world and its many diversions, and had, of course, blatantly disregarded orders, leaving the team and all communication behind him. He could be anywhere; even dead for all they knew.

'_Idiot.' _

His anger must have caused him to release more reiatsu than he had realised, because at that moment, Imahori, Kori, Imai and Santo drew up beside him, breathing heavily and, in the case of Imai, bent double over his knees and resting against the damp underside of the bridge. The two seated officers moved closer to the captain, both of them seeming anxious.

"Taichou, has something happened? Rangiku said, just before the Hell Butterfly…"

Imahori's voice trailed off; oddly nervous.

"We're losing contact with each other and the Soul Society. I thought it best that we all remain together."

The two of them nodded, visibly relaxing before they, too, leaned back against the wall, hoping to glean some comfort from the slippery, rough concrete.

No one spoke.

The only sound that now accompanied the slowed breathing of the shinigami was that of the river, deep waters gurgling as they moved leisurely under the bridge, lapping at the shore where six pairs of feet shuffled uneasily, avoiding the murky brown liquid that seemed to rise ever higher; greedy in its latent hunger. Hitsugaya looked on as a droplet of water, the size of his thumb nail, gathered at the edge of the arch, the dim lamp light beyond aiding his sharp eyes in seeing the tiny molecules of dirt that floated there, the droplet growing in weight as it sucked more from its surroundings. A moment later, it fell, the sound of its demise insignificant against the rumbling river, the splash it created nothing more than an extra globule of nutrition on which the weeds could feed.

He glanced up from the ground as he felt a familiar figure approaching, turning his head just in time for him to see the flash of movement that signalled the arrival of Matsumoto and Kimura. Before he could speak, however, she cut in first, her eyes frantic and hair wild, a hand twitching towards the hilt of Haineko that rested at her side.

"Taichou, where's Hosokawa? Is he here?"

Hitsugaya's frown deepened, his shoulders tensing as he calculated all possible reasons for her frenzied appearance and abrupt question. He came up with nothing positive.

"He isn't here. Sugita arrived alone. Apparently, he went off on his own somewhere."

She swore loudly, rolling her eyes to the sky in frustration and turning away from him, Kimura behind her looking highly disturbed.

"Taichou, I sent the message out to the others, like you requested, but I couldn't get hold of Hosokawa; only Sugita. I didn't say anything else to him at the time – I wasn't worried; Hosokawa's an officer and despite appearances _is_ capable of looking after himself. But then when I went to search for him;" She raised her hands in front of her face, palms open. "Nothing! I kept going anyway, just in case, but when I realised that I couldn't feel his reiatsu _anywhere,_ I knew that something was wrong. I mean, Hosokawa _never_ had any control, so why would he now? I was on my way back to tell you when I felt it: it was his reiatsu, all right, but it was distorted and fading, like it was being pulled out of him. I didn't go to see what had happened. I thought that it would be unwise to rush in alone with no idea of what the situation was."

Thoroughly alarmed at her words, Hitsugaya nodded, confirming that her actions were correct under the circumstances, and faced the others, all of whom had heard and none of whom were looking any better for it.

"How long ago was this?"

"Barely two minutes."

He let out a short, hard breath; thinking things through to the best of his ability. His thoughts were muddled; uncomfortable memories shifting to the forefront of his mind and demanding his attention, despite his efforts to keep focused on the many problems at hand.

'_Blood…cold blood…' _

"Matsumoto, we're going to find him."

'_The blood is…cold?'_

She didn't hesitate in her answer.

"Yes, Taichou."

As one, the team vanished, leaving the shadowed arches of the bridge empty; lonely; abandoned. The water continued to bubble steadily, dark depths lapping at the edges of the bank, rising to just the right point for it to sweep the remaining footprints away. The mist grew there, smothering the wild-grown brambles in its frigid, suffocating breath, the dark green leaves withering under the silver shackles of frost.

Black shapes gathered, swirling intermittently through the fog; smoothly, gracefully. They found themselves disappointed.

They left.

***

Matsumoto went in front, leading the way as they flew from building to building, trying to keep above the ever-rising mist. The closer they came to their supposed destination, the thicker and heavier the atmosphere became, the fog stunting their vision and forcing them to rely solely on their more supernatural senses, having to slow their movements to prevent themselves from dropping out of the sky and down to the wet, solid roads below.

It wasn't long before Hitsugaya felt it.

The sensation was petrifying, enough to cause even him to falter as they drew nearer. It was as though something was hovering above him, watching, lingering, and no matter how fast he ran he would never be able to shake it from his tail. He imagined in the end allowing himself to submit to this unknown shadow; to give himself to it.

He could picture its faceless smile.

'_Cold…'_

He repressed a shudder, gritting his teeth and pushing himself forwards harder, his arm tensed in preparation to reach for Hyourinmaru who waited safely at his back, his one small comfort in this threatening place. He wondered briefly if this was what those other men had felt in their last moments; the sensation of being hunted as though nothing more than mindless prey, and felt a wave of empathy wash over him. He could only hope that his circumstances would not lead to the same fate.

Ahead of them, the buildings ended, opening out into a long but narrow street, the houses bunched closely together on either side. It was pitch black; not one of the streetlamps seemed to be working, and the cold, which had crept up on them only gradually before now clung to them with an insatiable desire, crawling down their throats and biting at their hands. Aside from the grey mist, a subtle white frost glittered from every visible surface, deceptively innocent in its sparkly glow.

From their position on the rooftop, Hitsugaya could feel clearly the remnants of Hosokawa's reiatsu, dull and throbbing weakly from somewhere below. He bent his knees, preparing to leap when something dark flashed to his right.

He looked. There was nothing there.

The rest of his team shifted about nervously, as though aware of another presence but unsure of where it was.

Ignoring the numerous alarm bells ringing at the back of his mind, no doubt linked to his survival instincts, he sprung from the edge of the building, landing neatly on the pavement moments later and felt Matsumoto at his side, joined by the others when they had managed to find the strength to move their own limbs.

No matter how bad it may have seemed above the mist, the second it had engulfed them once more, they were paralyzed. The blackness was excruciating; unnatural and eerie, and no of amount of squinting seemed enough to lift the dark sheet from their eyes as they willed themselves to move, to tread further in.

Hitsugaya raised a hand in front of his body, muttering rhythmically under his breath until a ball of bright white flames materialized above his palm, illuminating the scene and banishing the twisted night. It was difficult for a moment to see anything beyond the blinding glow of the light-reflecting frost, but once their eyes had adapted enough, one, vital, thing became clear.

They had found Hosokawa.

Or at least, what was left of him.

He was slumped against the wall of a nearby house, his chest rising and falling shallowly in a futile attempt to clutch at the remnants of his ever-waning life. Hitsugaya ran forwards, crouching beside him to check for the injuries that he surely had, a healing spell already making its way onto his lips in preparation. Except, there were no injuries. No wounds. No blood.

"Taichou," Matsumoto's voice pulled his attention away, his gaze following her pointed finger to something that rested at Hosokawa's side. "His sword."

Hosokawa's arm lay limp; his hand clenched loosely around the hilt of a frost-coated zanpakutou, half of which, to Hitsugaya's horror, appeared to have vanished; the blade, now shorter by at least a foot, seemed jagged and torn, as though it had literally been ripped apart. As they watched, Hosokawa let out a single, rasping breath, his chest stuttering as the air caught in his throat and his lips parting as something silver and vapour-like rushed from between them, being drawn into the mist. An unpleasant, quiet screeching sound reached their ears, and looking down, they saw another chunk of the sword disengage itself from the main body and crumple, settling over the frost and melding with it until it was impossible to tell one from the other.

Perhaps there wasn't a difference.

Again, a swirl of movement had Hitsugaya whirling around, his hand outstretched, moving the ball of light in his palm in a full circle, trying to make out what had caused it. He was beyond certain now, if he hadn't been before, that the hollows they were hunting were here, and almost definitely aware of their presence. He was also sure, that if they didn't get out of there quickly, they would all end up like Hosokawa.

'_Cold…blood…'_

Turning his back uneasily on the rest of the street, he addressed the others.

"This is getting dangerous. We can't afford to stay here and fight if we don't understand what we're dealing with. Kimura, Santo, pick up Hosokawa and carry him between the two of you. Kori, you and Imahori stay at the rear and guard them while the rest of us go up front. We're leaving."

A series of relieved nods passed through the group, some doing so a little more hesitantly than others, their faces pale and hands wrapped tightly around their zanpakutous, afraid to lose them to whatever deadly force had taken Hosokawa's.

All facing away from the crumpled figure of the man, none of them noticed the black shape descending from above; clawed fingers delicately lifting his pale chin. They didn't notice the way in which the eyeless, hollow hood surveyed them; shrewdly calculating and detached. But they sure as hell noticed the harsh, rattling breath it drew in, the sound snake-like and cruel.

At once, their eyes met the looming black figure of their assailant, its robes frayed and tattered, rotting, bony hands outstretched towards both them and the former victim, beckoning.

Hitsugaya was the first to draw his sword, relishing in the fresh, comforting cold that met his hands and sending the glowing orb of light into the sky where it remained to hover, casting its pure radiance onto the scene below. Following his example, the others did the same, the sound of sliding steel coursing through the air.

The creature watched them with apparent curiosity, as if confused as to what they thought they could do with their shiny, metal rods, and beckoned again, this time specifically to Hitsugaya.

His vision blanked.

It happened so suddenly that he almost found himself wondering why his kidou had stopped working, but then, images began to slowly unfurl themselves around him, all of them unwelcome.

There was snow; an endless plane of it smothering everything in sight as it lay there, undisturbed. Except by _that_.

Blood.

It was spattered across the white expanse, the trail ending at his feet save for one, tiny droplet that had managed to reach his shoe, staining the tan-coloured leather.

He looked up.

Two figures lay ahead of him, face down in the frigid blanket; unmoving.

The wind howled.

'_Cold blood…the blood is…cold?' _

Hitsugaya shook his head violently, screwing his eyelids together in an attempt to rid himself of the memories, so vivid that they could have been real; happening at that moment. He tried to think of something else; something happier; anything, but found it hard, like wading through thick mud.

He thought of Matsumoto, his grandmother, Hinamori in the days when she had been free of grief and full of energy, the day it was announced that he'd passed the captains' exam; the highest scoring candidate in years, they said…

The scene began to flicker, shifting between two different events; current and past and, focusing with everything he had on the present, he broke through.

Only to find himself lying on the ground, his back pressed against the damp, paved floor, his head stinging with a hot, sharp pain, and judging by the warmth trickling through his hair, this meant a head injury. He tried to get up; to search for the others when he realised, shocked that he hadn't done so before that he was being held down by not one, but five of the black creatures. Their weight above him was unnoticeable, yet completely immovable, their sinister breaths sucking up what looked like the surrounding mist, except that, alarmingly, it came from his own body.

Fearing the worst, he glanced down at his right hand, in which Hyourinmaru was still held tight and found, to his intense relief, that the blade had remained intact. Ever so slightly, he then tilted his head to the left, wincing as he felt the rough ground graze against his already wounded scalp and scanning the area as best he could for any sign of the others.

One dark presence above him shifted.

Although the mist was thick, he could, if he strained enough, make out the black clad shape of something humanoid, the body still and lying flat; parallel to himself, the light reflecting dimly off a drawn blade. Everything was silent apart from the sounds of the hoarse breaths above him, indicating that he may have been the only one awake or, though he didn't like to think it, alive.

Refusing to waste a moment while he was still conscious, he growled, beginning to draw on his reiatsu, which, surprisingly, had not yet been tapped, allowing it to flow fast around his body, making him glow with a ghostly blue light.

The creatures, sensing his immanent rebellion tightened their already vice-like grip on him, leaning closer until he was sure he could see a single, wide mouth, gaping and slack beneath each of their hoods, and knew that he didn't want them to come any closer than they already were.

Tightening the hold he already had on his sword, he steeled himself, trying to focus on _now,_ on the present, as he muttered the words that he hoped would save his and his companions' lives.

"Soten ni zase, Hyourinmaru."

Immediately he felt a rush of freezing air whirl around him, blowing the hair back from his face as he snarled angrily. Ice crystals began to form over the ragged black cloaks that the creatures wore, growing rapidly and hardening into great blocks of the freezing material, heavy and unyielding; spreading out from his prone body in waves of frozen energy. They shrieked in rage when they realised, releasing him and rushing back, trying to claw the diamond hard chunks off and avoid those spreading from the ground towards them, their breaths sounding together in one deafening cacophony of rattling.

Hitsugaya raised himself slowly to his knees, slipping a little on the smooth, clear covering that now decorated the tarmac and crawled comfortingly over his ankles, his head too dazed to remind the ice that it obeyed him, and was not supposed to hunt its master in the manner of his enemies. He was all too aware of the heightened throbbing that moving in such a way induced; the pain starting from the back of his head and neck and, almost imperceptibly, running down his spine; the consequential dizziness meaning that Hyourinmaru became his physical support in his journey from the ground to his feet, the point of the sword fixed firmly in the tarmac.

Apart from his lack of balance, he was having severe difficulties with being able to see. The world around him swayed and darkened with each sudden movement, and the darker it became, the heavier he felt and the louder the high pitched ringing grew in his ears, blocking out the surrounding sounds of the creatures' approach.

The scene wavered.

'_Blood…cold blood…'_

"No."

'_The blood is…cold?' _

"No!"

Furiously determined, he wrenched Hyourinmaru sharply from the ground and leapt forwards, pulling his arm back and thrusting it into the open hood of one of the creatures, its hands outstretched and reaching for him, the limbs twitching sporadically. Blade embedded in its skull, he twisted, his voice course and low as he yelled:

"Ryusenka!"

Ice exploded from the centre of the hood so quickly that Hitsugaya hardly had time even to remove himself from its path as it encased the creature entirely, the once rippling black cloak now motionless and clawed fingers frozen.

But there were still the others.

They came at him all at once, gliding inches from the ground as they swept towards his glowing frame, blackness flashing across his vision. He felt new waves of despair threaten to engulf him once more; to drag him back to that unhappy plane of ice from his memories and cast him into unknowingness.

But he wouldn't let them.

They wouldn't have him.

Blinking away the grey spots that formed at the edges of his sight, he threw himself back, gritting his teeth from the sting of it and flipping elegantly to a position several metres away, careful to hold his zanpakutou far from him to prevent the crescent moon dangling at the end of the long, clinking chain from slicing through himself instead of his enemies.

They hadn't paused for a second in their pursuit and, if anything, were moving more quickly now, their heads lowered towards him and cloaks billowing in their wake.

Standing from his crouch, he launched himself into the air, ignoring the sudden pressure that accosted the top of his head and raising his sword once again, bringing it in a wide ark about his body.

"Guncho tsurara!"

From the moving point of the blade, knife-like shards of ice formed instantly and shot, bullet-like at the oncoming figures, impaling them before they even had the chance to realise the imminent danger and drawing, again, the quivering high pitched screeches from their too-wide mouths, this time so loud that it caused excruciating pain to erupt behind his eyes, making him gasp in agony, his concentration faltering.

Still wailing, they continued to advance, dark grey smoke issuing from the areas struck by the ice darts, an unpleasant hiss accompanying. Wheeling around in a tight circle, Hitsugaya flung his sword arm out, the glittering chain at the end being stretched outwards by the weight of the sickle, edge already sharpened by frost and hungry for the taste of an enemy's flesh. Facing them once again, he moved faster, putting more force behind the blow as glimmering silver bit ravenously into the rotting frame of the first creature, too close for Hitsugaya's comfort, and dragging the metal through, cleaving it in two with the sound of grinding bones and torn skin.

He moved back, out of reach of the swinging blow of one decaying hand and, unfortunately, into the body of another; the creatures having managed to encircle him as he was distracted and move into positions that would ensure the recapture of their prey. He felt cold, clammy arms reach around his body and the hissing breath at his ear, making his heart stutter in shock and undeniable terror, feelings of utter desolation overwhelming him, draining him of his will to fight.

'_Cold blood…' _

He couldn't. He mustn't.

'_The blood is…cold?'_

The shrieks seemed to grow louder still, crushing his thoughts with the force of it and disorientating him. The arms loosened their hold, the breath left him, and suddenly he was falling; rapidly and without hope of relief; tumbling uncontrollably from the sky. He saw, through partially confused and dulled eyes, the ground drawing ever closer, as though it were the one to descend upon him and not the other way around.

'_So cold…'_

And then it went black.

***

"We should have come earlier."

Szayel made no reply.

The two of them stood; Ulquiorra and the aforementioned scientist, on the brink of utter chaos; craters, half destroyed houses and rubble only partially covering the full extent of the damage. Below them, bodies lay strewn over the ground, both human and shinigami; none of them moving, and around one in particular, _they_ had gathered, the satisfied rattle of their breaths carrying easily to the rooftop from which the pair watched.

Finally, Szayel sighed, closing his eyes and reaching into his pocket, his hand running over the hard, smooth object that waited there.

"I suppose that's our test subject then. Pity there won't be much left of it to work with after this, but…" His voice trailed off.

Ulquiorra turned to him, his reiatsu, though his external body language gave no sign of it, curious, and perhaps somewhat confused. Szayel would have teased him for it if he had been in the mood, but sadly, he would be requiring the apathetic man's aid in this, if things were to go as smoothly as he wished.

"Why do you say that he must be the test subject? Why not another?"

The incredulous look that Szayel sent him would have rattled someone else, but then, Ulquiorra was well known for his stoic demeanour and predictable lack of reaction.

"The Dementors feed off souls. Human souls, Shinigami souls, whatever they can get their hands on, and usually, the stronger the soul, the more attractive it is to them, so naturally, all of them would be drawn to the most powerful, and consequently, the most desirable in the way of test subjects for us. I would have thought that you would understand this; it is in our own nature, as well."

Ulquiorra, satisfied that his queries had been answered, allowed his flat eyes to return to the view below, watching as thick wisps of fog were dragged out of the prone body and into the eagerly awaiting mouths of the Hollows.

"Still, it won't be so desirable if only half of its consciousness is left before we can get to it. I suggest we move now."

Szayel was about to drop to the dark street when something was thrust in front of him, barring his way. Eyes intensely focused on the sprawling mass of figures, Ulquiorra held his arm perfectly still and straight against the other man's white clothed chest and, without bothering to ask for reasons, amber orbs followed green to see new movement; a shifting where there had been none before.

"It's coming round."

Szayel said it almost to himself, his neck craning unconsciously to get a better look at its progress as he saw a white crowned head lift, probably in an attempt to get up, before stiffening; the shoulders set in a firm line and limbs tensing.

One of the Dementors leaned further over, pushing the boy back down and breathing more heavily, hoping to drain the fight out of him.

It didn't work.

Moments later, a blast of frigid energy hit them, sending the pair reeling back from the edge as the temperature dropped, if possible, even lower, the sticky cold from earlier now replaced by a strong, fresh wind. The sky, too high for those on the ground to notice from their misty cage, grew darker; clouds of such a black intensity that they caught the orange glow of the city in them writhing over the stars, lightning flashing silently in the distance.

They never heard the words of release that signalled the sword's awakening, but then, they had no need to; the results were all too clear. In the brief moment of distraction that had had their gazes drawn to the air, ice, bright and sharp, had coated the surrounding area with an intense ferocity and the Dementors, too caught up in their greed, had not noticed its slow advance on them, and so now, screeching, they fought to tear it of them.

The figure, nothing more than a child, tried to rise, swaying dangerously, and clearly aware of his affected balance, had plunged his sword into the ground, using it as a prop on which he could lean. Szayel noted the wide patch of blood that stained snow-toned hair red, and the slightly stumbling confusion with which he tried to gather his thoughts enough to attack.

The muffled sound of his voice reached their ears; too quiet to make out, but the second time it sounded, it rang clearly, the tone as defiant as the word.

Szayel raised his eyebrows, amused at the stubbornness of youth, but made no attempt to intervene; he found the events entertaining, and besides, it was always best to observe the behaviour of the subject before an experiment, even if it was somewhat…influenced.

"He cannot sense us."

Although Ulquiorra's monotone held no inflections, Szayel recognised it as at least half a question, and therefore worthy of his attention.

"No. With the head injury, its own reiatsu and the effect of the Dementors combined, I doubt it's aware of anything further than a metre away from its own body, and that's pushing it. We don't know how badly damaged it is."

"Then why use him as the test subject?"

As they watched, one Dementor vanished under the harsh surface of the ice, the boy's cry, loud as it had been, masked by the raging winds that whistled around the buried point of his sword.

Szayel flashed a dark smirk at the blank face of Ulquiorra.

"Because, all damaged things can be mended if the right method is applied."

He looked back just in time to see the boy leap backwards, flipping over surprisingly gracefully and landing in a neat crouch, the sword held straight at a right angle to his body. The Dementors advanced, picking up speed and hunching over as he pushed up from the ground, rising higher than the buildings themselves, and therefore the two Espada that watched, entirely unnoticed, the proceedings unfold.

They could see his expression now, and his face, though it remained single-mindedly focused on his enemies. He was as young as they had suspected, his sword easily the same length as his body and his robes shredded about the shoulders, though this, too, seemed to have gone unnoticed. His eyes, oddly feline in shape, were a clouded but bright turquoise, framed by thick black lashes that contrasted bluntly with his skin and hair, the former only a few shades darker than the white, wild locks that rose, obstinately, from his hairline to form natural spikes. The thicker of these, those that grew at the back, were stiff and matted with blood, making the back of his head look strangely flat, and as he swayed again, stumbling a little to regain his stability, a fine trickle of dark blood strayed down his neck, dripping onto the white of his haori. This image reminded Szayel of what he was looking at.

"A captain! I almost can't believe our luck! He'll have Bankai as well – oh, I can imagine the possibilities! "

"You did not realise before?"

"Does it matter?!"

Szayel was growing excited now; things were turning better than he could have hoped. Ulquiorra didn't answer, though, plunging them into their own personal silence while the battle continued to rage on.

"Guncho Tsurara!"

Honestly, it was impressive that he had that much voice left in him, though; it didn't look likely to last. Sharpened rods of ice, at least twice the length of Szayel's forearm, entrenched themselves into the bodies of the Dementors, making them cry out in a mixture of fury and pain. Black smoke billowed from the wounds, levelling off to swirl with the fog as the creatures continued on, heading for the body that had inflicted this on them.

The said body had now moved into a rapid spin, arms outstretched and robes whirling, the silver sickle that weighted the end of a ribbon-like chain moving faster than any human eye could catch, slicing through the nearest of the Dementors with ease.

As their mouths opened wider with another shriek, the boy's face contorted; eyes screwing up in agony and teeth clenching, all the while trying to evade the sharp blow of one long, gangling arm. Though he managed to do so amiably, if not a little clumsily, he was not so successful in avoiding the embrace of another that had glided silkily around to his back; arms open and welcoming.

The boy struggled weakly, trying shift himself so that his face was held further from the hungry lips of the Dementor, his muscles, though already going limp, straining against the hold. But it could never work; his breathing had slowed, as had his movements, and his eyes were unfocused, rolling up into his head despite his best efforts. He would slip out of wakefulness soon enough.

"I think it's time we stepped in."

Szayel received nothing more than a nod of assent from his side before Ulquiorra had left the safety of the roof, stepping calmly onto the swirling air before him and moving towards the huddle of rattling black.

"Enough."

The command was simple; short and direct. The Dementors seemed to understand and, reluctantly, they let go of their prize, rotting flesh disentangling itself from the half-conscious figure. The only foreseeable problem with their action became all too clear once nothing remained to support the boy's body, at which point it started to drop from the sky, back arching and frame twisting until he fell head first, limbs splayed and eyelids heavy.

Cursing the incompetence of his master's pets, Szayel flashed into a hasty Sonido, arriving on the ground only moments before the boy followed and, with startling accuracy, he reached out and closed his fist around his collar, halting the speeding body before it could be damaged further.

Holding it away from him with something akin to mild disgust, Szayel released his hold on the material, allowing the body to fall the rest of the distance without the concern of extra work.

Ulquiorra appeared next to him, unaffected by the events, as usual, and standing tall and stiff, his posture giving off an air of tense patience as he surveyed the boy with interest.

"I recognise him."

Szayel was surprised; looking from one face to the other.

"You do? Since when?"

"I believe he is acquainted with Kurosaki Ichigo. I have seen him" The black covered head indicated the unmoving figure. "And others around the boy."

The scientist hummed wordlessly in comprehension. Interesting.

"What did you do with the Dementors?"

Ulquiorra blinked.

"I sent them back. They will only get in the way."

"Fair enough."

Their gazes strayed back to the boy, who had just stirred uncomfortably, a muscle in his cheek twitching in pain. Even unconscious he still appeared tense; his white eyebrows were pulled down into a frown that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his young features.

Taking in a purely motivational breath of air, Szayel reached again into his pocket, this time drawing out the black plastic case and weighing it in his gloved fingers.

"Well, I suppose I'd better get on with it."

Placing his thumb at the edge, he pressed, and the case popped open, revealing the pre-filled syringe that he had put there earlier that day. The liquid inside was entirely clear, and seemingly harmless, but if one were to judge by the scientist's expression of sinister delight, they would know it to be anything but.

Removing the object from its container, Szayel knelt beside the boy, arranging the needle in his hand and using his other one to pull back the sleeve that had slipped over the needed area of skin, the material that had held it above the elbow no longer there, having been torn away by the Dementors' claws. He lifted the delicate looking wrist before him, bringing it closer to the needle and pressing the invisible, sharp point to his vein before pushing it in, the skin raising slightly in protest.

He injected the serum none too gently, smile growing as his mind wandered through all the possibilities that this act could entail; possibilities that the Soul Society could never even hope to dream of.

The syringe was emptied.

They had completed their task.

Ulquiorra took a step closer, watching, as Szayel did, for any signs of an allergic reaction or immediate rejection from the body. It seemed there was nothing.

However, as Szayel let go of the white, fragile arm, something did happen: something quite unexpected. From the point where the needle had made contact; the spot marked by a thin drizzle of blood, a trail, slightly darker in tone than his skin, began to map its way over his arm, splitting and joining in equal measure until the entire forearm was covered in mottled, rash-like patterns. Curiosity getting the better of him, Szayel picked up the arm again, running his hand over the skin to see if there was any difference in texture, and was surprised to find that there wasn't; the skin looked enflamed, painful, but as far as he could tell, the markings made no actual impact on the boy's body other than what he could see.

"Is it a problem? Did the body respond badly?"

Szayel shook his head, straightening from his crouch and turning his body towards Ulquiorra, though his eyes remained averted; still on the boy.

"I don't think so. Most of the other test subjects responded badly immediately, so I concluded that a stronger host would be necessary, and when I tried the serum on a more powerful one; a mid-ranking officer, I believe, his reactions were similar to this, though, of course, not as successful. He died, along with all of the others, but at the point of injection, he did display a series of markings, though his were darker; red, in fact, and they covered his body head to toe. I have thought up 'till now, and correctly, that the reactions are too virile for weaker subjects to survive, and that is why the markings only appear on those who resist. I thought he seemed like a stubborn little brat."

Ulquiorra stared for a moment; unimpressed. Then he spoke.

"You talk too much."

Szayel let out a short, harsh burst of laughter at this, though the expression did not carry to his eyes, and, in truth, he seemed less than amused.

"Perhaps, but even so, what I said was relevant; there's no denying that."

No answer.

Silence, and then:

"Will we treat his wounds?"

"No need."

Ulquiorra's gaze intensified.

"But if he dies, he won't be very useful."

"I agree." Szayel began to walk away, treading carefully through the dishevelled street. "But he won't die. The wounds aren't so severe."

The mist was starting to clear, the departure of the Dementors meaning that there was nothing left to fuel the suffocating clouds and so, gradually, it dissipated, revealing the full extent of the cost of their actions: not that they were sorry for it.

Directly at Szayel's sandal-clad feet lay the start of the ice-coated rubble. Houses stood destroyed, their roofs blown in and windows shattered, and from the ground, the depth of the craters that coated both walls and road could be clearly made out, probably caused by misdirected Kidou. This devastation spread, for another fifty metres or so ahead of them before the brick rubble ended, and the bodies began. There were perhaps 30, maybe 40, dead; the slumped figures of humans and shinigami littering the street, neither age nor gender having been shown any mercy at the hands of their murderers.

Noticing the bodies only moments after Szayel, Ulquiorra questioned their fate, more out of mild curiosity than actual concern.

"They won't be discovered for a while yet; their communication devices should all have been wiped out by now. Soul Society won't know of this 'till they find a backup solution and send a group down."

Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed shrewdly, realisation having dawned on him.

"So that was the purpose of your experiments on the butterflies. I understand now."

Szayel nodded, turning back to the other man once again, his appearance serene and footsteps echoing crisply in the sharp night air, accompanied only by his low chuckle; pleased by the evening's, or rather, morning's, events.

"Let's go, then. Aizen-sama will be waiting to congratulate us."

"Probably."

And with that, the pair vanished, leaving the unconscious form of one Hitsugaya Toushirou lying, bleeding and feverish, on the rough cold ground, his sword fallen at his side, blade shining in the fresh moonlight; now uncovered from beneath the veil of black clouds, and highlighting, tentatively, the honey toned markings that patterned his arm.

In the distance, one black robed figure moved.

***

A/N: The plot thickens! Intrigue upon intrigue! Who can say what will follow?

I can! That's who! BWA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!

Sorry for the moment of supreme weirdness, and sorry again for the length of this chapter...I still don't really understand how it happened...

I would veeeeeeeery much appreciate your feedback on this; I am still lonely and confused, and only the joys of reviews could ever lift me from it...

Also, I'm likely to update faster if there are more reviews, so if you actually like this story, then some speedy typing would be necessary!

thanks for reading!


	3. Important Notice! Please don't kill me

**Very Important Notice!!!!**

-

Okay! Firstly, I apologise to all those who thought this would be an update on the actual story; I know it annoys me when authors do this, so I can't say I'm best pleased to be doing it now. Basically, I've been having ENORMOUS computer issues, mainly along the lines of losing files and then not being able to recover them. You may have already guessed what I'm about to tell you, but if not, here comes the bad news:

'And the Walls Came Tumbling Down' has vanished from existence, meaning that it's going to take a while for me to update. Luckily, I do have another copy of it, but it's the unedited one, and also the one that's missing the next chapter. So, this means rewriting the next chapter (which I spent months on, by the way) and then updating, but this could take, as I've said before, a very long time.

The message is: 'Story not abandoned, but having to be rewritten. Please be patient. There will be an update.'

Yeah, that's about all I have to say…

Sorry.

Oh, wait it's not! On a much lighter note, I was thinking of a little omake chapter series for this, maybe tagged onto the end of each update, or possibly as a chapter in itself (but right at the very end). My little sister actually came up with some really amusing ideas, so...

Any thoughts on that?


End file.
